by Kobe Bryant
“And you sound like a whiny old man,” Peño snapped. “All you do is complain. You complain about getting up. You mope around at home. You don’t eat my cooking. You don’t come play at Hyde anymore, and you barely seem to want to play ball. What is wrong with you?”
Lab stared at him. He and his brother exchanged quips and jokes all the time, but it was never like that. Clearly, Peño had been holding his thoughts in for a while. It was true, maybe. Sometimes he felt weighed down.
Did Peño think he wanted that? Did Peño forget that she had died? Did he forget where they lived? For a dangerous moment, Lab felt his eyes well up. Then his temper won out instead.
“Nothing is wrong with me, except that my older brother is an idiot. Stay away from me.”
“No problem!” Peño said.
Peño pointedly slid down the bench, and Lab returned to his sneakers, fumbling with the laces. It was hard enough with only one hand, but now that hand was shaking with anger.
Peño finished tying his shoes and stalked away. Clearly everything was easier for him. He could move on. He could pretend it was okay. Lab couldn’t. Maybe he never would. Maybe it would always hurt.
Where are you putting all the pain?
Lab turned toward the back wall, hiding his watering eyes from the team. He closed them, feeling the tears threatening to fall, and when he opened them, he was sitting in the rowboat again. Sinking as before. Lab looked around, disoriented. The water had risen since the last time. It was seeping over the tops of his shoes, still cold as ice. There was a bucket, but he didn’t even bother with it. What was the point? The water would keep coming. He couldn’t find the leak. Lab just sat there, watching the water rise to his shins, his whole body trembling. A flicker of movement caught his eye. Way out on the shore, standing right by the water, someone was watching him. Someone familiar.
“Peño . . .” he whispered.
“The water is cold.”
He turned and saw Rolabi sitting behind him in the old rowboat.
“Yeah,” Lab said softly.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Somehow I don’t think you plan on swimming.”
“The shore is a long way away,” he muttered.
“You built the lake,” Rolabi said. “The boat. The leak. You built it all.”
Lab stared down at the water. It was clear but faded far below into nothing.
“I sort of figured that out by now. But I didn’t have a choice. I was dropped in this boat when she died. I’ve been bailing it out since. I’ve been going to school. Coming to ball. I tried.”
“It’s strange,” Rolabi said. “You were the most resistant to grana at first. The angriest one. Yours is the deepest darkness. And yet you keep coming back to it. You create these worlds again and again.” The professor’s eyes searched Lab’s face. “What does it feel like? Why do you want to give up?”
“Heavy,” Lab whispered. “It all feels so heavy.”
“And so sinks the boat,” Rolabi said, nodding. “It’s not going to get easier.”
“What’s not going to get easier?”
“Your road. It will be hard. Harder even than before.”
Lab snorted. “Is this supposed to cheer me up?”
Rolabi leaned in, eyes blazing. “No. I’m telling you to find the leak.”
“How?”
“By finding the hiding place.”
The lake disappeared. Lab was back on the bench, the team around him, and Freddy and Rolabi were staring at each other, hands clasped. Lab frowned. He hadn’t seen Freddy come in.
“Rolabi will remain the coach,” Freddy whispered, pulling his hand away. He was trembling. “I . . . I look forward to the season.”
He left without another word, walking into the morning sunlight.
“So much for that firing,” Vin muttered.
Rolabi faced the team. “Today we will be working on defense. Before I can teach you proper zones and strategies, I must teach each of you how to be a defender. They are not the same lessons.”
A scratching sound interrupted the lecture. It made the wispy hairs on Lab’s arms stand on end.
“What must a defender always be?” Rolabi asked.
Lab was barely listening. He kept expecting something to burst out at them from the walls. He looked around nervously, ready to bolt. The lake and Peño and everything else was forgotten, for the moment. If this was grana . . . was Lab creating it again? He tried to think of something nice, like fans cheering on the sideline, but the scratching continued. It didn’t make anything better. Lab still didn’t understand how any of this worked.
Rolabi abruptly turned to him. “Do you want to see more?”
Lab opened his mouth, looked around, and saw that he was alone. “Yes.”
The gym melted into darkness. Lab found himself standing at the base of a mountain that soared above him, rising into clouds. The salty ocean air was laced with the fresh scent of pine trees. Lab turned slowly, eyes wide, catching a glimpse of a castle on one of the lower slopes. He remembered more of the song. A place of sand and snow. He could almost hear her voice in the distance.
“The Kingdom of Granity,” he whispered.
“Remembered in Dren only in book and song,” Rolabi agreed, stepping up beside him. “The home of the last Wizenards.”
Lab glanced at him. “So that’s not your name—it’s what you are.”
“Correct. Long banned from Dren.”
“Why?”
“Because of grana.”
Rolabi snapped a finger, and he and Lab were suddenly standing in a cavern. Heat pressed in on Lab’s cheeks. A river of molten lava was flowing past. Lab had seen pictures of volcanoes in books, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of liquid rock. Crimson and orange, fire moving like water.
“Where—”
“Grana is tied to our emotions. Our feelings. Our morality. It is capable of the greatest change. It can carve like water, build like stone. All of us have it equally. All have the same potential.”
“And . . . Dren doesn’t like that?” Lab guessed.
“No. Many nations don’t, and your government forbade all mention of it. Before you were born, President Talin expelled the Wizenards. Clamped down on this nation and stripped its freedoms. But he does not understand grana. Let me ask you: If you wanted to move this magma, to divert the flow, how would you go about it?”
Lab stared at the magma and felt the terrible heat of it on his face. He looked around for inspiration. The cavern was large and vaulted, with stalactites hanging down like jagged teeth. It was empty otherwise, apart from scattered boulders and rocks that lay piled near the steep walls.
He tried to think. He couldn’t touch the magma. Somehow, he didn’t think politely asking it to flow elsewhere would work either. But, if he started piling rocks, he could create a channel. There were probably enough, though it would take him hours of backbreaking work.
“Well done,” Rolabi said, as if Lab had been speaking aloud and not just following a train of thought. “It is the only way. To channel that energy to the direction you need to go, you must build a step-by-step pathway. If you leave cracks, the magma will flow out. If you flag, you will not reach the goal.”
Lab frowned. “So grana . . . just flows. You need to redirect it?”
“Yes. With work. With little steps. Only when you have built an emotional landscape without cracks will it flow.”
“And what are my cracks?”
“Fear. Fear of what, you yourself must find.”
Lab looked out over the river of magma, considering. “Does President Talin know you’re in Dren?”
Rolabi smiled grimly. “Not yet.”
With that, the gym reappeared, just in time for Lab to see an enormous tiger stroll out of the locker room. Lab stumbled in shock, but the tiger just
walked right past him and sat down.
“Meet Kallo. She has graciously volunteered to help us today.”
The tiger looked over the group, almost regal with her raised chin.
Who is making this one? Lab thought nervously.
No one. I simply brought a friend.
“Rain,” Rolabi said loudly. “Step forward.”
Rain didn’t move. He kept looking between Rolabi, the tiger, and the front doors. Lab almost assumed he would walk out, but to his surprise, Rain took a small, slow step forward.
“Yes?” he murmured.
Rolabi rolled a ball to center court.
“The drill is simple,” Rolabi said. “Get the ball. Kallo will play defense. We will take turns and go one at a time. I want everyone to watch and take note of what happens.”
Lab looked at the professor in disbelief. They were supposed to get around the tiger? Kallo started to pace, protruding claws clacking on the hardwood. They looked razor sharp. He glanced at his brother. Lab was still angry, but he didn’t exactly want to see Peño get eaten by a tiger either. He wondered if Peño knew that Rolabi was a Wizenard and was banned from Dren.
The thought triggered questions: If Rolabi was banned, why had he come back just to coach the Badgers? And why was a Wizenard coaching them, period? What would President Talin do if he found out?
“The first one to get the ball gets their hand back,” Rolabi was saying.
That caught Lab’s attention. “Are you saying the rest of us don’t?” he asked.
Have you earned it?
Well, I was born with it, Lab thought sourly.
So, no.
Rain hesitated and then reluctantly stepped forward. He faked to the left and went right, dropping his shoulders and moving fast enough that 99 percent of defenders would have been left grasping at thin air. But Kallo was not remotely fooled. She hit him directly in the chest, bringing him down. Rain stared up in disbelief as Kallo bared her deadly, inch-long fangs.
“What do we do?” A-Wall whispered.
“Get ready to squeal and run away,” Vin said.
But she licked Rain across the face and stepped off.
“Devon,” Rolabi said.
Devon didn’t fare any better. Lab went fifth, and he stepped forward without hesitation, not wanting to look like a coward now. Peño had already gone and been knocked flying—much to Lab’s amusement—and his brother would have a field day if Lab didn’t even try. Kallo tracked his movements, flashing him a lopsided grin. He had the distinct feeling she was mocking him.
“What is the point of this again?” Lab said.
“There are so many,” Rolabi replied. “I suspect the answer might be different for everyone.”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“And so you received a rhetorical answer,” Rolabi said with a shadow of a smile.
Lab tried a double fake: left, right, and then left again, moving low to make himself a smaller target. It didn’t work. Before he knew it, Kallo was pinning him with a paw across his chest. Her breath washed over him, hot and sticky. Then she licked his cheek with a coarse, grating tongue and walked away to wait for the next attempt. Peño snorted with laughter.
“Like you did any better,” Lab said, climbing to his feet.
“I did,” he replied. “And I wasn’t shaking like a leaf either.”
“Leaves don’t shake.”
“It’s a common expression.”
“You’re a common expression,” Lab said. It didn’t make any sense, but he was angry.
Peño rolled his eyes. “Grow up.”
Lab hated when Peño said that—like he was so much older and wiser. “Why . . . so I can be a washout like you?”
“I’m literally one year older than you,” Peño said.
“And three years worse at ball,” Lab snapped.
Peño turned away, and Lab sighed, dejected. He didn’t feel any better.
After everyone went—except Big John, who refused, then tried to beat up Twig, fight half the team, and argue with Rolabi before being sent to the locker room—Kallo sauntered back over to Rolabi and sat down.
“None of you got the ball,” Rolabi said, giving Kallo an affectionate pat. “But you all showed real courage. That is a good start.”
“Yes!” A-Wall cried out.
Lab’s right hand tingled. It was back. He hugged it to his chest.
Courage always yields rewards.
Lab looked at Rolabi, scowling. I don’t need courage, he thought. I just want to forget.
Then you seek weakness.
Lab thought about that. It seemed to resonate for some reason. Was weakness what he was after? And if it was, why was he so surprised that he felt weak?
Cold suddenly flooded his body. A deeper cold than he had ever felt in his life. Goose bumps trailed up his arms like the pebbling on a new basketball.
“What is that?” Jerome asked, pointing with a shaking finger.
Lab followed his gaze to an orb floating at center court. Instantly, he knew it was the source of the cold. It was black as space and rolling and fluctuating in midair. Somehow, he knew that there was something deeply wrong about that orb, yet also familiar.
“Ah,” Rolabi said, turning to face it. “Just in time.”
“What . . . what is it?” Peño asked nervously.
“That is something you all will want to catch,” Rolabi said. “No, it is something you all must catch. We can call it the orb for reference. Whoever catches it will become a far better player. But it won’t last forever. If no one catches it, we run laps.” He nodded to the orb. “Go!”
His voice cracked across the room like a starting gun. Without even wanting to start running, Lab was suddenly in the chase. It felt like he was being pulled along on a string—but not by anyone else. He wanted it, deep down. There was something tantalizing about the dark shape.
But the orb was not easily caught.
It zoomed out of reach, bouncing between players like a ping-pong ball. Lab swiped at it and missed, though he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. It seemed that everyone was caught up in the thrill of the hunt. They jumped and dove and crashed into one another. Lab watched in disbelief as the orb managed to slip through every outstretched hand. It was uncatchable—at least, for them.
At one point, it wandered just a bit too close to Kallo, and she erupted like a geyser and swallowed it in one snapping bite before settling back on her haunches and shooting the team a grin.
“A true defender,” Rolabi said. “Get some water. Laps and free throws.”
That was met by a chorus of groans.
Lab’s stomach felt queasy. Why had he chased that orb? There was something off about it—something bad. And yet he had raced after it like a bloodhound. He sighed and sat down on the bench.
After a short water break, Lab felt a little better, and the team took off again, scaling hills and stairs and sliding down valleys. Lab was soaked by the time Twig hit a shot—forty-five laps in. Lab had already missed his own attempt after glimpsing a distant sinking boat.
“It’s a start,” Rolabi said to Kallo.
“A start?” Lab said, shaking his head like a wet dog. “I’m about to keel over.”
“Tomorrow we will work on team defense,” Rolabi said. “Get some rest tonight.”
With that, he headed for the doors, Kallo walking along beside him.
“Are . . . are you taking the tiger?” Peño asked.
The doors burst open, hit by howling, icy wind, and the professor and the tiger walked outside.
Lab plopped onto the bench, rubbing his burning thighs. He was exhausted, and he wasn’t the only one. Big John was patting his face with a towel, seemingly unable to speak.
“We practiced with a tiger today,” Peño said.
There was silence for a moment, and then Jerome started to laugh. It spread rapidly. Soon everyone seemed to be laughing, though Lab refused to join in on principle.
Now that practice was over, Peño’s angry words came back to him once again. So Lab was sad. Wasn’t he supposed to be? If anything, Lab was angry that Peño had just moved on. Why did Lab have to be the only broken one? It wasn’t fair that Peño could be happy again when no one in their family should be. And yet . . . Lab wanted Peño and his dad to be happy, of course. It was confusing. Nonsensical. Lab wondered whether he would feel guilty either way—whether what was left of his family was happy or miserable forever.
“Drop some lines, Peño,” Jerome said.
Peño began to bob to some unheard music. Lab changed out of his wet shirt and started for the doors. For the first time in eight years of playing basketball together, he left Peño behind. He pushed open the doors and glanced back. Peño looked hurt, and for a moment, Lab considered waiting for him.
But then he remembered that Peño was mad at him for being sad. For mourning too long. If Peño wanted to forget things, if he wanted to pretend life was great, then he could do it alone.
Lab narrowed his eyes and walked out, letting the rusty old doors slam behind him.
THE NEXT MORNING, Lab and Peño walked apart the entire way to Fairwood. They hadn’t spoken all night. When you shared a room, and ate dinner together, and had only one TV with four grainy channels, that took some doing . . . and lots of glares, mutters, and awkward silence.
For the fourth straight night, Lab had barely slept. The nightmares were bad before, but they were even worse now—had been since he saw her. That encounter in the gym had been far worse than the picture that Peño still kept on the mantel, the one Lab ignored when he walked past.
In the vision, he could have touched her, spoken to her, and he didn’t get the chance. That nagged at him. He wanted to talk to Peño about it, but he was still too angry. His brother was supposed to be on his side. Lab didn’t talk to his dad either. He was busy. Tired. He didn’t need a reminder. And so Lab was alone, which was nothing new. He felt alone even around other people.
